Free The Calm Before The Swarm by Michael McBride Page B

sweat sock,
and fought in vain to pull her mother back down out of sight.
    Anders locked eyes with the woman across the
shadowy alley.
    "Yes."
    "Please, mommy."
    "It's okay, sweetheart," she said
unconsciously. She focused on Anders. "Can you help my child find a
better place to live? A better life?"
    "Mommy!" the child screamed, but her mother's
ears were deafened to her plight.
    The woman stepped forward, her daughter
wailing and pawing at her the whole while. Her straw-colored hair
poked out from beneath her ski cap, crisp with frost. Her cheeks
and the tip of her nose were bright red, her eyes sunken into pits
of despair. She wore a wool overcoat that appeared to be of little
warmth as she visibly shivered.
    "Can I trust you to see that my child is
safe?" she asked, her brittle lips cracked and bleeding.
    Anders could only nod.
    The woman searched his eyes for sincerity.
Walking over bodies able to sleep through the bitter cold thanks to
enough heroin to fell a horse, she strode up to Anders and stood
before him.
    "How does this work?" she whispered.
    When he looked up into her eyes, tears
streamed down her cheeks.
    The little girl ran to her mother's side and
wrapped her arms around the woman's leg.
    "Perhaps you...would like to rethink
your...decision," Anders rasped. He knew that if she didn't decide
immediately he would have to crawl over and take one of the zombie
junkies to rid himself of the disease.
    "No," the woman said firmly, though her jaw
quivered and her lips pursed. She slipped both hands beneath her
child's chest and pried her away. "Someone...please..."
    An older man, gray and haggard like a Viking,
stepped out of the darkness and walked over to her side without
looking directly at either of them.
    "C'mon, honey," he said, wrapping his arm
around the small girl's chest and lifting her from the ground.
Though she swung her arms, kicked her legs, and screamed loud
enough to rip the sky, the man managed to keep both arms around her
so he could carry her down to the end of the alley.
    "Do you swear you will make sure my daughter
finds a better life?"
    Anders broke eye contact and nodded.
    "Swear it to me."
    "Your child...will no longer know
suffering."
    "Will you take her tonight?"
    "Tonight?"
    "Please...I can't stand the thought of her
watching me die. She's been through more than enough in her short
life."
    Anders stared at her again, his eyes
lingering within hers, and finally nodded.
    The woman fell to her knees before him,
wiping the tears from her cheeks.
    "Make sure she knows how much I love her."
She had to stifle a sob.
    "Come closer," Anders whispered.
    The woman leaned over his legs until their
face were a scant foot apart.
    "Just do it," she said. "Please."
    "Closer."
    She leaned even farther across him until he
was able to raise a trembling hand to her chin. He turned it gently
to the side and whispered into her ear.
    "Thank you."
    "For what?" she asked.
    "For restoring my faith. For giving
me...hope."
    She turned and looked him in the eyes,
confused.
    "Reach into the left...left inside pocket of
my...my jacket."
    She slid her hand between the flaps of the
trench coat and felt around with a shaking hand until she found the
pocket and reached inside.
    When she recognized what her hand was wrapped
around, she drew in a sharp breath.
    "Show no one," he whispered. "Take...take your
daughter and go."
    "Why---?"
    "Go."
    She pulled the money out and stuffed it into
her pocket, rising quickly to her feet.
    "Thank you," she whispered, and turned away.
Her pace hastened with every step, and with one final glance back
over her shoulder, she snatched her child from the large man's arms
and disappeared around the corner onto the street.
    Anders rolled over onto his stomach and tried
to push himself to all fours, but with as badly as his arms were
shaking, he could barely lift his head from the ground. Reaching
forward with clawed fingers, he tried to grip the icy cement,
tearing the skin from his fingertips